We awoke to a misting rain and now there is a fog so thick we cannot see the forest 100 yards away, across the slight dirt road. Beyond, doves are cooing. A whip-poor-will hawks his unique wares. The Hollow Brook babbles secrets with the last of the peepers daring the dawning sun and bullfrogs set up shop among the cattails and bulrushes. And despite the grey of a day that promises a mix of sun and shower, the beauty of the realm is sublime, shades of verdure beneath a cloak of grey ‘neath yonder azure. The wild apple trees are frosted in creamy hues and pale rose, peeking through the Elfwood, and ruby-throated hummingbirds thrum wings too fast for the human eye as they rob nectar from the feeder upon the covered deck. Within the cottage, there is the fragrance of fresh black tea, pancakes and bacon. It is so much treasure at so little cost that I must wonder, yet again, why mortals spend their lives in pursuit of trivial baubles when it is the natural world that sustains them and gives its treasures abundantly if one merely opens the eyes and heart and soul.